


Towards The Sun

by Marked_by_moonlight



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Allegory, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Children, Christmas, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, POV Susan Pevensie, Post-Book: The Last Battle (Narnia), Post-Narnia, Religion, Sad with a Happy Ending, Susan Had Kids, The Problem of Susan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marked_by_moonlight/pseuds/Marked_by_moonlight
Summary: In which Susan Pevensie goes through the Five Stages of Grief, and finds Aslan along the way.





	Towards The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I dont own Narnia, or anything related to it.
> 
> This will be a big story I think. Let me know how you think I did writing Susan. It was hard to write her.

Susan had just finished smoothing down the last few flyaway curls near her ear when she heard the knock on the door. She supposed James was early. She sniffed daintily. Her lips were painted with rouge, her face an even porcelain color.

This was their third date. She was quite overjoyed he’d decided to stick around even after meeting her childish siblings.

However, her steps faltered at upon seeing the Policeman at her door. His navy uniform was firmly ironed, the brass buttons shining brightly.

Opening the door, Susan put on her most charming smile.

“Good Afternoon, Officer. How may I help you?”

“Ma’am. Are you Miss Susan Pevensie?” Said the Officer

“I am.” Susan couldn’t help but feel a ball of lead grow in her stomach.

The officer had continued speaking, but Susan’s ears were ringing. Her family was dead. All of them were dead. Her heart stuttered in her chest and she felt her knees buckle.

The officer reached forward to catch her. He was an older man, his hair greying and his mustache flecked with salt and pepper. He cradled her head as she wailed, her chest wracked with sobs.

“I’m sorry lass, I'm so sorry.” His scottish baritone rumbled. He pressed her firmly against his chest and held her like a babe. Susan clung weakly to his shoulders.

Susan was dimly aware of the older man carrying her into the sitting room and placing her on the couch. She screamed herself hoarse, tears tracking themselves down her face. The man that brought the worst news Susan had ever heard, showed himself out the door.

She had no idea how long she had been lying on the couch when she felt her eyes slipping closed.

She awoke to a hand on her shoulder, James’s face swimming in front of her. The setting sun filtered through the blinds.

“Susan, darling, Are you well? What happened?”

She shook her head. Her throat was raw from grief. It didn’t seem real.

“James..” She croaked, “My family is dead. They died in a train crash.”

He said nothing, merely pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair and brushed away her tears. He settled onto the floor beside the couch.

“Take as long as you need love. I’ll be right here.” he reassured.

Susan sighed and nestled into the couch again. She was asleep before she knew it, the softness of the blanket brushing against her toes.

She woke to the sound of rain pattering against the rooftops and the whistle of a kettle.

She yells out for one of her siblings and then freezes. All of the horrors of yesterday come crashing down. Susan feels a lump forming in her throat. James pokes his head around the corner, his white button down is ruffled and untucked.

“I’ve made tea, love. It’s hibiscus and rose petal I think. It was in a bag near the kettle.”  
Susan nods and lifts herself from the couch. Her arms feel weak, as though she is old and her bones creak at the bitter bite of winter. She is tired. The crash doesn’t seem real. 

She stifles a yawn into her palm and pads towards the kitchen where the smell of rose, cinnamon, and nutmeg is wafting. All that's missing is the smell of dirt and pine, she thinks. For it to smell like home.

Susan’s heart pangs with longing, she wants to go home. She aches to be with her siblings and her children, who were only knee high when she left.

Her hands shook as James wrapped one of Mother’s tea cups into her hands. The porcelain is hot, steam spills over the edge like smoke.

Susan sits unblinking in the parlor, waiting for her siblings who will never come home.

*

Their funerals are a week later. The arrangements have taken up most of her time. Susan forces herself to shower beforehand, there are dark circles under her eyes like shadows. She covers up the effects of grief with powder and a dainty, courtly smile. 

People greet her as she steps into the small stone chapel. She sees Aunt Alberta standing in one corner, a handkerchief pressed into her hand.

Nine caskets were laid out where the altar usually would be. A cross hung behind the baptistry. Susan doesn’t wish to look at the open caskets. She knows what she will see. The closed ones are even worse. 

When they hadn’t called on her to identify the bodies, some part of her morbidly supposed that it was because their bodies had been too badly mangled in the crash. A small part of her still believes this to be a fact.

Susan mingles for a while. She sees James and waves him over to sit between her and Alberta. The more distance she can put between herself and her aunt the better.

She feels as though she is floating. The singing and the sermon flit as quick as hummingbirds wings across her mind. Susan passes the time by staring blankly at the eggshell colored wall behind the casket. Light filters through the stained glass, dappled spots of red, blue, and purple dance upon the carpet at her feet.

The prayer is said quickly and the family members left behind file out the door.

People mingle around the chapel, the blackened cobblestones of London are sun warmed. ‘The day should match my mood’ She thinks, ‘ The sky should be a sickly purple, thunder should crack across the heavens, and rain should torrent down like my grief.’

The caskets were placed into the hearse at the front of the long line of cars. They were sleek and black, with silver embellishments on the side.

James wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned into him for support. Susan was tired of crying, tired of people giving her pitying looks, tired of people not minding their own damn business.

The ride to the cemetery is eerily quiet. Her black dress is splayed across her knees, her pale hands gleaming like fresh fallen snow. The air conditioner in James’s car is cold and Susan represses a shiver.

She hated the winter. They all had, but especially Ed. Her siblings never understood her doubt. How could something as perfect as Narnia be ripped from them so cruelly? How could He take her children away from her? 

How could He take away her entire family?

Susan is filled with overwhelming rage at the thought of Him. A creeping bitterness wrapped itself around her heart, Her hands are white knuckled, her fingernails digging bloody half moons into her palms.

The cemetery grass was a pale mottled brown, scattered with dead dry leaves. It crunched under her flats as she weaved between the tombstones.

The burial went slowly. The sound of dirt splattering against the wooden caskets ripped another piece of her soul away. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She blinked furiously, she couldn’t smear her makeup. If she did, there was no telling what these old biddies would think of her.


End file.
